***
Less than an hour later, I’m kissing Ben hungrily as we stumble through the dimly lit parking lot behind the bar. It’s been so long since I’ve kissed anyone that I feared I’d forgotten how—but judging by the rough, breathless noises spilling from him, I’m doing just fine.
My fingers tangle in his shaggy blond hair, pulling us closer. It’s dry and coarse, and I bet he’s the type of blue-collared man who uses those cheap three-in-one shampoos.
Cold metal hits my ass as Ben nudges me against a blue pickup. “This is mine,” he pants against my mouth. “We can go back to my place, if you want.”
I pull his lower lip between my teeth. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
I eagerly climb into the passenger seat of Ben’s truck. The floor’s a landfill of fast-food wrappers and empty cups. I nudge aside a greasy take-out bag with my shoe. A disgusted scowl starts to pull at my lips, but I quickly swallow it down.
Back in college, this would’ve been a dealbreaker. I had standards. Now? I’ll take what I can get.
“Sorry about the mess,” Ben says with a laugh.
“It’s fine.”
He turns the key in the ignition, and the engine roars loudly. I reach for my seatbelt—then freeze. My eyes land on a mustard yellow ballcap resting on the dash withSawyer 2025embroidered on the front.
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. A sharp slash of dread rips through my stomach like a blade.
“Whose is this?” I ask wearily, nodding toward the hat.
Ben gives me a confused look. “Mine. Why?”
My stomach drops. “You support Franklin Sawyer?”
“Yeah,” he says, scoffing. “You got a problem with that?”
Instant boner killer.
Sawyer’s a geriatric, right-winged, prejudiced, racist piece of shit, currently running for state representative. His campaign signs are posted all over town, and his popularity is growing in the polls. He has tons of loyal supporters around here.
But I never thought one of them would be a queer man like Ben.
“He’s homophobic,” I say flatly.
Ben rolls his eyes. “He’s not homophobic. He just doesn’t want the agenda shoved down kids’ throats. I agree.”
My teeth clench. “The agenda?”
He lifts his hands defensively. “Listen, I’m gay and all, but I’m…normal.”
“Normal,” I repeat flatly. I hate that word.
“I just don’t support all that sissy shit—makeup, pronouns, trans-whatever. I only fuckrealmen, like you and me.”
“I’mnothinglike you,” I snap, anger boiling inside of me. “Sawyer supports conversion therapy.”
Ben huffs, shaking his head. “Do we really have to get into politics? I thought we were having a good time.”
“Wewere, until I realized you’re a bigot.”
“Excuse me?!” he barks.
“Goodbye, asshole.” I reach for the door handle.
His calloused hand clamps around my wrist. “Dude, c’mon. At least suck me off. All that kissing got me hard.”
